The Kiss (Love Awakens part 2)
by A Romantic Enquiry
Summary: Esme is still adjusting to her existence as a vampire months after Dr. Carlisle Cullen rescued her after a suicide attempt. The affectionate bonds she's forming with his companion Edward & the doctor surprise her. She finds herself particularly drawn to Carlisle though & begins to wonder if vampires can fall in love. (Part 2 of my Carlisle/Esme series: Love Awakens.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Thank you for visiting my story! Not only do I want to share my writing with others, but I greatly appreciate any time you take to leave comments or reviews. This project of writing a series about Carlisle & Esme Cullen is not only because I love them as characters, but I am constantly striving to improve as a writer.

**Part 2:** The Kiss. 1921.

**~ Chapter 1 ~**

I always knew when he was approaching. He never came home at the same time, so it was not my internal clock alerting me; it wasn't because I anticipated him returning at a certain chime of the clock. I had spent the past few months trying to discern how exactly my body was working now, or not working, and how my mind processed things, how they filtered through my senses. I had realized quickly that it was his scent that announced his presence.

Scent overwhelmed me now to the point of distraction. The passing months filled me with more curiosity and wonder rather than subduing it like some of my other feelings. Sensations, temptations had overwhelmed me at times. I felt fear of myself and my own abilities, the things I craved. I noted the very subtle movement of my ribcage. It seemed more restricted than in life, although I felt neither discomfort nor the desire for a deep breath. I found I could cease breathing with no need for air in my lungs. But left to subconscious control, the air still entered and was expelled from my body.

With each intake of air, my entire being was pervaded with the complex mix of scents. I could smell not only the wood of the furniture, but distinguish between the oak door and cherry desk. I could smell not only the dust but the very elements that made it up. I knew now that the sunrise and sunset actually had their own distinct scents. The warmth of the sun changed the scent of things as did the cooling rays of the moon.

In the beginning, the scent of humanity had overwhelmed me. It was not a mere matter of keeping myself away from humans and anywhere they might have an accident. Regardless of the fact that we kept a residence outside of town, at times the scent of human blood, my life force, my weakness, my greatest desire, seeped in around the window frames; it lingered on anything one of them had touched. I smelled life everywhere and I craved it. I did not mourn mine. I did not miss it overall. Instead I craved it, the taste of it, the feeling of it reviving and energizing and satisfying me.

I wanted to learn to be around people again. Carlisle had mastered it to the point that he was exposed to it, literally had his hands in human blood daily, and managed to resist it. I asked him to teach me how and he approached the matter with a great deal of patience and attentiveness. In the beginning, I was nearly always in his or Edward's company—the three of us beginning to form a sort of family.

The first night that Carlisle had left me alone, I failed him. I knew the satisfaction of human blood, the taste of it, the smell of it, the incomparable rush it provided. The days following were torturous. We had been in opposition for the first time, but he had not been angry with me. He had not chastised me. His forgiveness hurt worse than my own guilt because I knew he was genuine in it and that I did not deserve it. I learned then that I could no longer cry.

Despite the fact that Carlisle had explained to me much of what he knew, trying to soothe my distress, to comfort me and assure me not be fearful of the changes, I had no real understanding of my own physical strength before then; for, not only had I overcome and killed a grown man as easily as if he was helpless kitten, but I'd done considerable damage to my living space after I'd begged to be restrained out of fear of myself.

"It will not work," Carlisle had insisted. "You are the only one who can control your choices. I have faith in you, Esme. "

I did not have faith in myself and still avoid social interactions with the truly living. I worried about Carlisle sometimes because his trust and faith in others seemed frighteningly naïve and did not make sense coming from someone who had endured as long as him. He meant only as well as he could do under the circumstances. I wondered sometimes if he ever felt similarly gripped by desire, if he ever really truly battled with himself over it because he never behaved as if he did.

I pushed back the delicate lace curtain at the window. I had to practice making my movements normal, human, careful. The wind had picked up outside, a fresh, cool, Spring night breeze that I felt, heard, smelled, almost tasted through the windowpane. And on it had come his scent and that is how I knew he was turning the corner, walking toward the door. I consciously inhaled, seeking to separate him from the rest of the smells in the air: the moisture, the dust, dirt, smoke, the foliage.

I tried to define it, label it, what Carlisle smelled like, but I could not, even with the extreme sensitivity of my senses, even with the new sharpness and quickness of my mind, my heightened sense of awareness. It was a complex and layered aroma, like a fine wine. It was comforting, but not in the way his knowledge or protection was comforting. It quickened something in me, something akin to thirst, but this was not violent. Carlisle did not smell like blood. Still, it was almost like longing this feeling. I was happy when he came home.

He opened the door bringing a rush of scents and sensations with him. His hair was at least soft enough to be tousled by the wind, the blond strands falling around his forehead. He brushed it back with one hand, making me wonder what it felt like, as his pale lips curved into a smile. He blinked, long lashes falling over his golden eyes. We don't really need to blink the way humans do. He looked how a surgeon returning home from a long night shift should look: pale, tired with faint shadows beneath his eyes. But he always looked like that; he always looked the same to me—perfect. He was so convincingly human at times.

"Hello," he said, his voice cheerful. I could discern every vibration of his vocal cords when he spoke: it was an almost tangible experience that made me nearly feel the tremble in my own throat.

"Hello," I repeated softly, surprised at the sudden subtly in my own voice. His smile broadened at my response and I was smiling back as he closed the door and stepped toward me.

"Would you care to accompany me on a stroll?" he asked, the smile still on his lips. It was almost as if he knew me better than I knew myself at times or that he could read my thoughts. I quickly learned that reading thoughts was Edward's talent and that Carlisle's ability to understand me was something else. "It's a beautiful night and there are still a few more hours before daylight."

I felt my own eyelashes flutter as I nodded—a leftover human reaction, I decided. I fancied that he was just paying enough attention to me to see that I was gazing out the window with a sense of longing. I decided not to tell him that my longing had nothing to do with the out of doors but with him.

He walked past me, stating that he was going to change out of his work clothes and I found myself trailing after him a moment later. Though I knew I would not feel cold, I should dress in something suitable in case someone passed by. I confess that I was well aware of my steps slowing as I passed Carlisle's room. Through the door I could hear not just the opening and closing of drawers, but the rustle of clothing down to the details: fabric being unfolded, the cloth sliding over his skin, a button slipping through a buttonhole, one lace crossing another. And his scent seemed to simply overpower me. I had to consciously stay focused on my purpose.

Entering my room, I found appropriate shoes, doubtless as it was that any in my collection would ever pinch my toes or be insufficient to keep them warm again. I felt like something of an actress at times, playing the part of a living woman. I was still new enough to this existence to retain human instincts that had been ingrained in me during my twenty-six years of life. I questioned my curiosity about Carlisle when I wondered if he too could hear my every movement through the walls, smell me through them and what he thought about that if anything at all.

Of course, Edward resided with us and I would have been able to discern his scent from any other. I could hear his movements, but he did not distract me the way Carlisle did.

That led to the question of if I was only enamored with Carlisle in some way since his venom had pervaded me and worked to transform my entire body into something new, more powerful, stronger, more enduring than I had ever been in life. Was this affection only devotion to the one who had saved me? Was I merely curious to learn from him?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Thank you for visiting my story! Not only do I want to share my writing with others, but I greatly appreciate any time you take to leave comments or reviews. This project of writing a series about Carlisle & Esme Cullen is not only because I love them as characters, but I am constantly striving to improve as a writer.

**Part 2:** The Kiss. 1921.

**~ Chapter Two ~**

When I met him back at the door, I was not so certain. His eyes were on me again and I noticed them lingering over my frame, which he made no effort to hide.

"You look beautiful," he said, sounding not merely polite but genuine.

He had dressed in casual slacks, a fresh shirt, sweater, and scarf. No matter what the occasion, I noticed that he took great care to cover his throat. It piqued my curiosity further. My transformation had erased any marks human life had left on my body and I wondered what, if anything, he sought to keep hidden.

If I had any pumping blood in me, I'm certain I would have flushed at the way he looked at me, the drop in the timbre of his voice, the way the words came out softly but intensely. I glanced down like a demure girl instead of the powerful, nearly indestructible being that I was. There were moments when I felt thrown back into my sixteen year-old self sitting nervously in front of him with my broken leg, worried about nothing but acting like a lady and learning more about him.

"Only thanks to your good taste," I answered as he opened the door for me. He had bought everything I was wearing: the house was his, my ability to sustain myself, my very existence was thanks to him. I felt his hand hovering behind the small of my back as I stepped in front of him, but he did not touch me.

I knew when I took his arm that I did not linger with him from fear or obligation or a sense of gratitude. In my human life I had been made to think I had no other choice than to stay with a man who caused me nothing but harm. When I left, I was hunted like a stolen piece of property and punished worse than a thief. I was frightened of being alone but more frightened of being with my husband. My lingering fear of myself was nothing in comparison to what I had felt then. I knew that I would mature in my new life as I had in my former one. The fear would fade, and I would once again be able to survive on my own. But I liked being with Carlisle. I felt proud of myself somehow, though it was no doing of mine, that I was the woman by his side as we strolled down the street.

We talked casually for some time about what we had occupied ourselves with in our absence from one another. He refrained from telling me the horror stories of the hospital, of death or pain or particularly blood. Despite my first-hand knowledge of those facts, I found his stories hopeful. Instead he told me of the lives that had been saved, pains healed, parents relieved, children born. I noticed that he never boasted or even involved himself in the stories he relayed to me. He would tell me about a sick child who had come in and went home mended, as if she had been healed completely without aid from him.

Thinking of all that Carlisle contributed, I began to feel the stirrings of the need for something more to occupy my time. In life I had kept myself busy as a housewife, then a teacher, and a mother for a brief few days. Now I had endless time ahead of me with no constraints other than to sustain my need for blood without harming or alerting humans of my nature. After I perfected my ability to appear human, I wondered what I would do with my time then.

I was curious about why I had been saved. Did I have some purpose as Carlisle did? The question of his motivation to save me ate away at me, but I dared not ask him why. I wasn't even sure if he knew what he wanted me for or if he wanted me at all, but I hoped that he did.

Our walk had led us much farther from home than we had planned—to a small pond in the park at the edge of town. We paused for some time and I was looking out over at the insects skimming the water, listening to the sound of their wings amongst the chorus of frogs and crickets.

The scent of an approaching human reached me even before the sound of his footsteps on the rocky path through the park. I tried to will myself not to panic, but the fear swept through me rapidly. I had to learn how to be close to the living again; I had to learn to interact with and act like one of them. I knew that the pressure was self-induced; for, Carlisle never rushed me into any step of my new existence. He patiently answered my questions and discussed our kind with me, or avoided the topic if I was not in the mood to speak of it, or not talk at all and just be close by in case I needed him.

I began my inner dialogue of trying to calm myself. Something inside of me told me to run. It spoke to me as if I must flee for my life. Something spoke to me as if I would starve if I did not seize this opportunity. The man became not a human with a soul, a life, a family, but my only means of survival in this part of my mind. I saw myself overcoming him easily. I could practically taste the blood. I ground my heels into the soft earth, hoping it would signal to that part of my mind that I did not intend to give in to it.

Carlisle spoke to me, but I was not focussed on his words. Then, he placed one arm around my waist protectively, taking my chin gently in his free hand to steady my gaze toward his face.

"Don't be frightened of it," he said soothingly. "You have the choice. It does not control you."

"I feel as though it does control me though. I don't know if I have that much willpower," I confessed, leaning into his embrace.

"Try to concentrate on something else entirely," he suggested.

I realized just how close we were then. He had released my chin and had both arms around me. He held me tightly, though not as if to restrain me—it was a protective embrace. Though I had witnessed the physical strength of our kind displayed in all three of us: Carlisle, Edward, and myself, it still surprised me how steady and undefeatable Carlisle seemed.

I found myself easily distracted and mesmerized by his beauty. I knew that women must have adored him everywhere that he had gone in the past nearly three-hundred years. I wondered how many others could have possibly been as captivated in his embrace as I was at that moment. I was of his kind now, knowing the details behind the complex allure he possessed, knowing it was far more than his physical beauty, though that would likely have been enough. I was completely enthralled. I tried to imagine him as merely human, and still I could envision myself being as attracted to him as I was now. Though I had noted the transformation of my own looks, everything being corrected and perfect after I had been turned, I could not think of myself as being as beautiful as Carlisle. I couldn't imagine anyone disagreeing with me, even him, that he was the most beautiful of us.

Before I knew it, the man had passed us by and I had managed to stand my ground firmly, not even looking his way. Yet, Carlisle and I remained in our embrace, though I turned so I was no longer facing him. I thought that he feared I'd run after the man, knowing I could easily overtake him though he was out of our sight. I could not help but be slightly saddened then that Carlisle only held me to protect me from myself. His embrace was comforting and reassuring and so much more. I wanted more of this, more often, and not because either of us thought I was about to kill someone. I wanted him to hold me close to him because he wanted me the way I wanted him.

"Esme," Carlisle said, his lips scarcely inches above my ear.

"Yes?" I asked looking up at him again. His eyes were on me intently. He appeared deep in thought, but he did not answer right away. With his free hand he reached up and touched my hair, almost hesitantly as if he was afraid I would object. "What are you thinking?" I prompted finally.

He smiled affectionately at me and I felt a rush through my body, as if I still had something flowing through my veins. "I was actually wondering what you were thinking," he replied.

[tbc]


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Thank you for visiting my story! Not only do I want to share my writing with others, but I greatly appreciate any time you take to leave comments or reviews. This project of writing a series about Carlisle & Esme Cullen is not only because I love them as characters, but I am constantly striving to improve as a writer.

**Part 2:** The Kiss. 1921.

**~Chapter Three~**

I hesitated for a moment. I felt my lips part, but no words escaped. "I still have emotions," I started, feeling foolish, but not wanting to say outright that I had been thinking of him.

I suppose he had expected me to say something about bloodlust. Perhaps he thought I was speaking of guilt or fear caused by my vampire nature, not the overwhelming feeling of being in his arms.

"So do I," he stated. "Not everything human in us is destroyed." He did not sound as if he was giving me a lesson in vampire existence, however.

"It feels different from when I was…" I paused again. I still struggled for the words to speak about it. I still had difficulty defining myself and felt uncomfortable talking about it where someone might overhear us. My senses told me though that the man was far enough away now that he wouldn't hear us with human ears and he was wisely creating more distance between us and himself rapidly. "It's different now. Some of what I feel is entirely new to me, like nothing I felt then. I loved my family and my son…" my voice hitched and I was afraid I could not go on.

"I know," Carlisle said softly. He slid both arms around my waist then, holding me to him. I was certain he only meant to steady me at first, but then I questioned if vampires ever get weak from emotion to begin with.

"Do you think that, well, those like us can feel love, for one another, I mean?" I asked finally.

He appeared to seriously consider my question before explaining that many find companions for company or protection or power alliances.

"That isn't what I mean," I interjected.

"I think that if you feel something it must not be against your nature. I have known our kind to find mates, but it seems more than feeling that drives it."

"Oh," I responded looking away again, over my shoulder and out toward the water. Still, he held me.

"If you are asking me personally, I have met countless numbers of people," he added. "I have felt a great sympathy toward them as a whole. I hold respect for life and wish only to help where I can. I have encountered many like us. I have met many who hold a striking devotion to their mate. But I cannot say I have ever been in love."

I pulled back from him instinctively then. When he loosened his grip on me I thought he had merely begun to realize that I mistook his protective embrace differently than he had intended. I felt ashamed of myself and foolish for ever thinking my feelings were something more and that he returned them in any way.

Then his fingers were in my hair again, his lips close to my ear and I closed my eyes, savouring the sensations. "Until now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't even know that all of this time, I have been waiting for you."

"Carlisle," I responded, almost gasping as I turned to meet his gaze.

"I think of you all the time," he continued. "I have never been happier to come home since I know you will be there. Far above my own happiness though, I want you to be happy, and I hope to be part of that." As he spoke he leaned closer to me, our eyes were locked until the moment I felt his lips brush against mine. My eyelids fell closed as my lips parted.

I had been too close to death to recall the feel of his lips on my skin in that second before he infected me with his venom. I had only vague memories of darkness, pain, and fear. His lips were softer than I had expected, smooth like silk, and he kissed me carefully, gently, invitingly. The feelings that flooded through me were not comparable to anything I had ever felt before. My mortal lover had been a man I had no feelings for in the beginning and only fear and disgust developed from our union.

But kissing Carlisle was very different. I was shocked to discover the influence I had over him—as our kiss deepened, he held me more possessively, yet something like a sigh of pleasure escaped him as I eagerly expressed my interest in tasting him fully. It had quickly escalated into something overwhelmingly passionate, desperate almost, but tender.

I had never wanted more of someone, at least not in this sense. I had known physical intimacy, but it had not fulfilled my expectations and likely do to that lack of love. I was not merely driven by curiosity, in spite of the questions of how and why and even if vampires could or should feel such things I did now. The rules, the sensibility or lack thereof did not seem to matter as I surrender farther and farther simply to how he made me feel.

I had never lost my belief in true love, but I also resolved to give myself to nothing less. This was how I had always longed to be kissed and I realized that I had wanted it to be him ever since I had met him at the hospital over ten years ago. I could think of nothing else now but making love with Carlisle and I wished for a moment that we were only human. We would not have met that way, I knew. And now we did not grow tired or breathless and I felt that we go on kissing like this for eternity.

Finally, I felt him reach the edge of his resistance for the first time. I felt a thrill at having pushed him to the brink of losing control to temptation. Our bodies were pressed close and I felt more deeply connected to him than ever; I did not feel reliant on him but also as if I was nothing more than my desire for him.

He no longer felt colder or stronger or more wilful than me. We felt like equals, matches, partners in our emotions, our battle against temptation, in our very existence. I opened my eyes to find his face just a hair's breadth from mine and I felt something like a tingle in my skin at every point we touched still. He was gazing into my eyes and we stood there motionless for some time. Words seemed inadequate and as if they may even be a hindrance to what we were communicating to one another rather than an aid, so we did not speak.

All of my questions about love and desire and emotions were answered in his embrace. He was right that it did not matter to me if I should feel such things or not; we seemed easily capable and mutual in doing so. What else mattered?

"I am happier than I have ever been with you, Carlisle," I confessed finally. He closed his eyes, smiling at me as I cupped one hand to his face. "You are what I have wanted since the moment we met."

He kissed me again in response, gently and more briefly than the first time, but I somehow found this kiss to be even more thrilling: it held the promise of many and much more somehow.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked as we turned to resume our stroll, my shoulder pressed against his arm as we leaned into one another.

He already knew the answer. I was always thirsty it seemed, so I only laughed softly in response.

"So am I," he replied. His eyes were still a brilliant golden color though and I knew they darkened with a true physical need for blood. The thrill of the hunt was incomparable and we still always went together since he knew I was wary of going alone. It wasn't so much a need to sustain himself that he wanted, but just to be with me—to share the rush and pleasure of something unique to our kind.

I smiled at up him as the fingers of his right hand intertwined with those of my left. I knew then that we'd never let one another go.

**Author's note:** This concludes "The Kiss." Esme & Carlisle's story will continue. Part three of the series will be a story told from Carlisle's perspective.


End file.
